


A Favor for a Friend

by scioscribe



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Background Kirk/Spock - Freeform, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, F/M, Pon Farr, Porn as Explanation for Plot, Pre-Canon, Sex for Diplomacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: The Starfleet lieutenant they had sent was handsome, T’Pau supposed, in that too-ruddy human way.  His hair was the yellow-brown color of parched grass—appropriate enough for a visitor to a desert world.  And he was young enough that there should be no trouble with his stamina.“They have told thee what to expect?”Lt. Kirk inclined his head.  “They told me Vulcan women have—times of mating.”





	A Favor for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue taken directly from "Amok Time."
> 
> A porny explanation for T'Pau going the extra mile in giving the _Enterprise_ an alibi with Starfleet.

The Starfleet lieutenant they had sent was handsome, T’Pau supposed, in that too-ruddy human way. His hair was the yellow-brown color of parched grass—appropriate enough for a visitor to a desert world. And he was young enough that there should be no trouble with his stamina.

“They have told thee what to expect?”

Lt. Kirk inclined his head. “They told me Vulcan women have—times of mating.”

And Vulcan men, but if someone had omitted that, T’Pau approved of it: she would have Vulcan’s privacy and dignity guarded as much as possible. She would not lie, but she would—without apology—let him misunderstand.

“And thou art willing and able to perform?”

He must have taken special note of the second half of the question, because he looked at her more fully then. His gaze was lingering without being lewd. “Yes, Honorable T’Pau. I don’t anticipate any trouble in that area. But if I could ask—”

He paused; she waved her hand. He could ask so long as he did it quickly. The irritability was already setting in, making her feel flushed and prickly, as though the day—in fact rather clement—was hot enough to attract the bites of the sweat-flies.

“Why not another Vulcan? For that matter, why not a professional? Why the Federation, why a human?”

“I did not make special mention of a human, only a physically compatible male. I have no desire, at my age, to undertake _pon farr _with a true mate; I have already buried my husband and have no wish for another. With a Vulcan, there is a risk of an accidental attachment. With thee, it is negligible. What else was it thou asketh? Why not a concubine?”

“Not in those terms.”

“An expression of my trust that the Federation will serve my needs with dignity and respect. And because there is a physical toll. I would ask thee to pay it, but not one without a duty to face pain.” She saw a hint of approval in his eyes, blatant for a Vulcan but subtle for a human; it seemed to say his sentiments accorded with her logic. “Why didst thou come?”

“I had orders.”

“And if I relieved thee of them?”

“You’re not part of my chain of command,” Lt. Kirk said. “But if you mean would I stay if the orders suddenly vanished, then yes. You’re in need of help and have good reason to not look for it elsewhere. And you are, of course, of singular importance to the Federation. I’d like it to continue having your good will and your trust.”

His answer satisfied her. She led him back to her bedchamber, which she had cooled to a temperature acceptable to a human expected to perform physical labor. She began to unfasten her robes.

“Please,” Lt. Kirk said. “I’d like to do it, if you wouldn’t mind. It’ll help with the, ah, mood.”

She allowed him that. His bare hands were exceedingly warm against her skin as he deftly relieved her of her garments. The removal of those layers of stiff brocade, coupled with the close presence of another being, primed her to descend into the madness. She no longer balked at it. The time for civilization was—however briefly—over.

T’Pau would have what she wanted.

She lay on the bed, her legs open, but when Lt. Kirk tried to join her, she pushed him away. “No. Kneel.”

He did so, and when she bared herself further, he fulfilled his function without needing further orders. He licked against her inner labia for some time, as if growing accustomed to her, but then proceeded further, concentrating his attentions primarily on her clitoris but from time to time employing his tongue at her vaginal opening. Both techniques were appreciated and T’Pau met her first climax easily.

Lt. Kirk did meet her on the bed then, his own clothes abandoned. His lips shone with her secretions.

“Would it bother you,” he said, “if I talked?”

“I will not always hear thee,” T’Pau said.

“That’s fine. It just—aids the performance on my end.” His face showed a ungoverned emotion, a kind of good-humored embarrassment, as he added, more frankly, “I get off on it.”

She did not understand the expression, but could not see how his entertainment of himself would matter one way or the other, so long as he continued in his duties. Which he now did, attending to her with only his fingers, though he was fully roused. He conserved his strength: admirable.

“You taste incredible,” he said. “Sharp, tart—like biting into a green apple. Different from any human I’ve ever been with, man or woman.” He bent his head, giving her a plainer view of how much she had already disheveled that parched-grass hair, and ran his tongue around the areola of her nipple, bringing the skin there to stiffness and further sensitivity. “And you know you have the power, that allure of authority. I’ve always liked that—never had a good instructor I didn’t halfway want to fuck. It’s the challenge, generally, but not with you. Honorable T’Pau. It’s too clear you’d win.”

His words pleased her. As did his body, though she observed it only in flashes—the red curtain of _pon farr _did not always part to give her access to her own mind. But he was slim and well-muscled, and his penis was of a size that she found agreeable but not excessive.

He was nothing like Suyak, her late husband. T’Pau thought that for the best. To bed one with a superficial resemblance to Suyak—some buried part of her believed it would have cheapened his memory. There was nothing in this exotically pink-and-yellow creature to remind her of him.

T’Pau was sitting astride Lt. Kirk’s hips when she entered one of the fever’s lulls. She took stock of their situation. His penis was inside of her, his fingers against her clitoris. He was silent now, and his face was red. T’Pau rocked against his hand until she found the necessary release, and then she climbed off him, stopping him with one hand when he rolled to reach her again.

“You may rest,” she said. She had not planned on using such an informal address with him—their physical intimacy did not automatically merit it—but she saw no need to retract the gesture. “The need has temporarily been slaked. It will be a few hours before it returns.”

Lt. Kirk nodded. “How am I doing?” His voice was hoarse.

“You are most likely dehydrated.”

“Aside from that.”

“I have found your attentions satisfactory.” She stood; in the cool period between the peaks of _pon farr_’s intensity, she felt a trace of self-consciousness about her nudity, but that was illogical. He had certainly seen every inch of her by now. She walked to the old-fashioned pitcher in the corner of her room and activated its water replication. She poured out two glasses and then returned to bed, handing one to Lt. Kirk. “It is sensible to drink between periods of strenuous exercise. You would be better served by that than by your inquiries.”

His eyes widened, a flush rising in his cheeks. He took the water without further comment and drank, his Adam’s apple a steady bob in his throat.

When he was finished, he said, “How many hours, do you think?”

“On average in my lifetime, 6.42.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I should sleep, then.”

“There is a room down the hall for your use,” T’Pau said. “The door has been left open for you to find it.”

“Thanks.” He stood, beginning to dress, and T’Pau took in the sight of him a little more clinically, now. He had acquired a considerable number of bruises in the last few hours, especially on his hips and shoulders, and she recognized the red-violet shape of bite-marks, as well; Suyak had never been thus decorated. But it was notably hard to mark a Vulcan. Humans were much more fragile. She would have to order a dermal regenerator to be brought to the house while he rested.

He had not complained of his injuries, she noted as he departed. He had sought praise, not relief. Strange.

T’Pau, too, slept briefly. When she awoke again, with arousal once more sharpening the sensation of the sheets against her bare skin, she ate and drank and stretched; she had suffered a severe muscle cramp once during _pon farr _and found it distressing. She showered, idly fascinated by how easily the light scent of Lt. Kirk’s body washed away from her own. It would not have been so with a Vulcan partner.

She had toweled her hair dry and resumed her place on the bed when she heard Lt. Kirk’s knock.

“Enter.”

He looked suitably replenished. His manner towards her had changed slightly, but she considered that to be of little significance.

“I would ask you to resume,” she said.

“Of course.” He went to his knees again. The sight appealed to her—enough, perhaps, to be the cause of a certain irrational interest in his mood.

She placed one narrow bare foot against his shoulder to stop him from moving forward. “Are you sufficiently rested?” He nodded. “Humans sleep in eight-hour increments. After the demands of physical activity it would typically be more. Do you lie, or are you unusual in this way?”

Lt. Kirk tilted his head slightly, regarding her; his expression was once again livened with amusement. “Both, Honorable T’Pau.”

“Explain.”

“I don’t sleep much generally. Less than other people, probably. But I _am _tired.”

“You may say so.”

“Doesn’t affect my duty.”

“Nevertheless, it is illogical to lie.”

“Your question wasn’t that specific,” Lt. Kirk said, still amused. “‘Sufficiently’ gives ample wiggle room.” He sat back on his heels. “I think you wanted to trap me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How have I trapped you?”

“You have a strange way of making amends,” Lt. Kirk said, a statement which was both misguided and in no way an answer to her question. He kissed the inside of her thigh and then leaned back again. He appeared to be thinking something over. “Then again, maybe you weren’t making amends. No reason you’d need to be. My injured ego seems pretty far from a going Vulcan concern.”

“You speak nonsensically. How was your sense of self impaired by your physical injuries?”

“My physical—” He looked down at his bruises and actually laughed. “Honorable T’Pau, I’m sore, but I can assure you I’ve had worse than this. Don’t give it a second thought. I appreciate the—vigor. No, I mean when I was asking you if I was coming along all right and you told me, like a mother, to hush up and have a drink of water.”

“It is not a maternal instinct to ensure a lover is physically fit for pleasure,” T’Pau said. “Your concern was a poor use of your time.”

“By your standards. But it _was _my time.”

Perhaps that was a fair assessment. They did not generally interfere with other cultures’ behaviors, however ill-conceived, unless they were actively destructive.

“I should have understood what you were going for, though,” Lt. Kirk said. “Like I said—ego. I won’t let it happen again.”

“You value compliments,” T’Pau said.

“Sure.”

She considered that, silently lifting her foot from his shoulder so that he could once again perform cunnilingus. He had lost none of his skills due to exhaustion.

After she reached orgasm, she said, “I find you both attentive and capable. You are not exceptionally attuned to my body, but you have not had much time to learn, and I have not been in a mental state conducive to teaching you my preferences. You have exceeded my expectations of you. As a gesture, I would allow you to suggest the next sexual act.”

“Gestures are better than compliments,” Lt. Kirk said cheerfully. “Don’t agree to anything you don’t like, though.”

“I said you might suggest,” T’Pau said. “Not decide.”

“That’s put me in my place. –Do you have a—I don’t know what you’d call it on Vulcan. Dildo?”

“I do not know that word.”

“A cock—a penis. An artificial one.”

“Oh,” T’Pau said, mildly interested now. “Yes.” She sometimes masturbated with it, though that felt unacceptably personal to admit to.

“Does it have a harness? Something you could use to strap it to your hips?”

“It arrived from the manufacturer with such equipment. I have not utilized it.”

“I could show you how, if you like,” Lt. Kirk said. “How to use it on me, I mean. The base—if it’s really made for that kind of thing, and if it came with a harness, I don’t know why it wouldn’t be—should give you good friction.”

“Women enjoy this?”

“Some of them.”

“And you derive pleasure from receiving such penetration?”

“Nearly always. And it has the advantage, right now, of letting me lie back a little. But if you don’t think you’d like it—”

She had little context for visualizing the experience, but if he were correct that it would provide the necessary friction, she saw no reason why it could not be attempted. If it did not suit her, she would leave the task unfinished. But her curiosity was roused now. And, as she retrieved the device and harness and he showed her how to situate it about her hips, that intrigue blended agreeably with the returning fever.

Lt. Kirk readied himself, his breath hitching as he worked lubricant-slick fingers inside his body.

“That should do it,” he said at last. He started to roll over onto his hands and knees.

“I would have you on your back.”

That, to her faint surprise, appeared to startle him; it was possible it even caused him momentary embarrassment. But he agreed, quickly enough that he was thus arranged, with a pillow beneath his hips, before she could appropriately dissect his reaction. She was not minded to quarrel with anything that aligned itself with her wishes. And she was, in any case, rapidly descending once again. She could not, in her present state, have even thought to make him the offer of selecting their next sexual act.

She positioned the head of the phallus at his entrance and thrust forward, enjoying, as he had implied, the pressure the movement supplied to her. The aesthetic appeal of penetrating him was also not to be underestimated. Spread out before her, raised up to facilitate her access to him, panting as he took the phallus into his body—somehow it made her use of him all the more blatant. Her role as the _debaucher _was particularly clear.

She passed once more into mindlessness.

After one more lull and one more spell of intense sexual activity, T’Pau felt her need ebb away with an inarguable finality; she would be satiated in that manner for seven more years. Some part of her, mildly curious, considered engaging in further relations with Lt. Kirk under only her customary level of arousal, but her body was exhausted by the demands the _pon farr _had made upon it; he, too, confessed—at her insistence—to feeling depleted. He had sustained further injuries, which he tended to with the dermal regenerator while she dressed.

She decided to make more of an attempt, next time, to curb some of her roughness. The effort might be futile—humans were fragile, and Vulcan _pon farr _was seldom governable even by the best of intentions—but it should be made nonetheless. She could see a few guarded winces as he went about repairing his bruised and broken skin.

T’Pau bound up her hair. “Thou hast my assurance that the Federation will continue to enjoy my respect and high regard.”

Lt. Kirk raised his head, noting, doubtlessly, her return to formality; he, who had memorably and but an hour ago applied his skilled tongue to her in something he called “rimming,” also assumed the trappings of dignity. “I’m gratified, Honorable T’Pau.”

“The nature of thy assistance, I trust, will remain private.”

“I’m in between ships,” Lt. Kirk said. “Cuts down on the middlemen who might gossip—I took the orders directly from Admiral Barnett. And he was your contact, if I’m right.”

“He was.”

“Then he and I are the only two who know. I think it’ll stay that way. I won’t spread it around, and you wouldn’t have trusted him in the first place without good reason.”

“Thy career, then, cannot easily benefit from thy service to me.”

He smiled. “No, but I didn’t expect it to. I can make my own way.”

Then he had, in fact, rendered his assistance for primarily the reasons he had initially given her—to provide aid to her and further secure her good-will for the Federation. An interesting man, T’Pau decided, and an honorable one, however prone to frivolity. He would make a poor Vulcan—he gave the impression of having neither Vulcan depth of feeling nor Vulcan governance of it—but in his shallow, unmoderated way, he was superior to many humans. She had little doubt that he would, as he had said, make his own way.

“I will have my time again in seven years,” T’Pau said. It was not a decision she wished to make immediately—there was no urgency and therefore no reason for haste—but the information was worth gathering. “If I contact thee then, wouldst thou attend me again?”

He answered readily. “If my orders allow it, and I’m unattached.”

“‘Unattached,’” T’Pau repeated.

“Not romantically involved.”

A foolish sentiment. Romance should not present an obstacle to a situation that involved none; she had made no claim on his heart in their time together and intended none. But perhaps it was natural for him to believe any future lover he had likely to be illogical in this manner; he would most probably form a connection with another human, after all.

She offered no objection to his qualified acceptance; he went on to dress and ready himself for departure, combing through his hair with wet fingers. His mouth was still red and overworked, but he didn’t seem to mind that his recent usage would be apparent to even the most casual observer. It was strange to her that he would blush when invited to recline on his back for penetration but would return to his own public life with such visible signs of intercourse upon him. Though he would most likely immediately seek out his own shower and bed, limiting his company.

T’Pau raised her hand in the _ta’al_. “I will remember thee, Lieutenant James Kirk.”

*

She did think of him on occasion. His career with Starfleet had the glory he’d implied it would, causing his name to occasionally appear in news broadcasts; she was thus aware, in a background way, of his advancement to the rank of captain. She sometimes employed memories of their time together, and further extrapolations of those memories, in her masturbatory fantasies, though less and less as the years passed, and never with what she judged to be a statistically significant frequency.

She was surprised, however, when he arrived on Vulcan as an invited friend of Spock, son of Sarek.

It had been six years since T’Pau had last seen him—years in which she had changed very little and he, in the abbreviated way of humans, had changed much. His face was broader than she remembered; his hair, somewhat thinner. He was very slightly heavier. Stress and time had given him a tension in his face she did not remember having seen before. He was still young, even by human standards, but his boyishness had faded.

She was unsurprised that he agreed to serve as T’Pring’s champion: he had stepped easily into Vulcan rites before, not forsaking his duty, so it was natural that he should do so again.

Yet he proved immediately that Spock had been correct—he did not know the stakes of the challenge he had entered into. In helping her through _pon farr_, he had been well-informed beforehand; she had let that history obscure his present ignorance. She had forgotten that part of his knowledge had been deliberately limited, deliberately misleading.

The _kal-if-fee _would be his death. That much was plain. His strength was no match for a Vulcan, even one in the physical decline of the _plak tow_, and he was hobbling himself with emotional attachment. He had entered a fight to the death without being willing to kill his opponent. He would therefore inevitably die.

Spock had begged her to prevent this. He had had good cause to do so.

Kirk’s death was, then, her responsibility.

“Is this Vulcan chivalry?” McCoy demanded of her, the words causing an unexpected sting. “The air’s too hot and thin for Kirk. He’s not used to it.”

Yes—it was fair to allow for such differences, as she had adjusted the temperatures in her quarters for him. But that had been a simple matter. McCoy could not expect her to control the sky. “The air is the air. What can be done?”

He proposed a hypodermic injection, to compensate for the physical strain of the foreign environment.

It was a reasonable request. It would not, however, overcome Captain Kirk’s reluctance to fight. He would have his full strength, but he would not necessarily use it.

McCoy must surely be aware that his friend was constrained by his ethics far more than his biology.

But then, they were both his friends, were they not? Spock had invited them both. Yet now McCoy offered assistance that could lead to Spock’s death. The thought tugged at her, like a hand on her sleeve.

She allowed the request—whatever his motivation for asking, justice demanded her acceptance.

And then she watched, mere moments later, as Kirk died at Spock’s hands.

A suggestive sequence of events, perhaps. But perhaps not. She could not be sure.

“I grieve with thee,” she said to McCoy, with less courtesy and more sincerity than he could know. She had had a high regard for Kirk.

As Spock took his leave of her, unthinkably, yet honorably—rejecting his victory and forfeiting his prize, T’Pau saw the shadows under his eyes and the paralyzing stillness of grief in his face. His blood had been tested, and was this the result? That he was Vulcan enough to kill his friend, and too human to live with the pain of it? Was death how they now measured the thickness of Vulcan’s blood?

Spock’s pain had overcome the fires of _pon farr_, but that was not possible. Though perhaps, for one with his peculiar heritage, anything might be possible—

But for a Vulcan’s own body and _katra _to reject his time—T’Pau had only ever known it to happen at the loss of a mate. With Suyak died, the rawness of her grief had spared her from a _pon farr_ without him—it had been nine years before she’d been obliged by her blood to take another lover. And now Spock turned away from his burning need because his friend Kirk was dead, and he had killed him.

Ah—and with that, she understood.

She thought, too, that if Spock’s _pon farr _had not caught him half-unaware, she would never have seen James Kirk again at all. He would not have qualified as unattached. A year from now, surely, would have seen him bonded to Sarek's son.

_And now he is dead, _T’Pau thought. _And only a memory, as he has been to me all this while. Spock will not be used to that, and it would seem he does not have the equanimity for it. But then, he loved, and I have not done that since Suyak._

She was being carried back to her residence when her PADD emitted the chirp of an incoming message.

It was a secure contact point, one she had given to very few. She was not presently inclined to conversation, but anyone who could reach her this way was entitled to her attention despite the temporary disorder in her mind. She answered.

James Kirk smiled at her briefly before schooling his face into a more placid expression. “Honorable T’Pau. I thought it was only polite to let you know I made a sudden recovery.”

T’Pau felt the length of her exhalation, which she supposed was almost great enough to qualify as a sigh of relief. “So it would seem.”

“Spock’s all right?”

“He has transported back to thee; thou canst judge his state thyself.”

“I’m cordoned off in sickbay at the moment, Bones isn’t even letting me get out of bed yet. But that must have been one hell of a quick consummation.” He flushed suddenly. “I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive that kind of slip from an—old friend.”

Spock would explain the situation himself, if he chose to. It was not her place to tell Kirk of what it meant for a Vulcan’s grief to make him relinquish his prize. Nor was it her place to declare her observation: that Kirk did a very poor job indeed of disguising his pain at imagining Spock with another.

“I will ignore thy impropriety.”

“I’m gratified by that.”

“As I am gratified by thy life,” she said, the traditional—if seldom used—acknowledgment of an acquaintance’s turn back from the precipice of death. She added, dryly, “I will not ask thee how that liveliness came about.”

“And I won’t ask myself how it’s going to be used. I’ve got a rap on the knuckles coming—we were supposed to be on Altair by now—but you don’t need to hear about that.” He offered her another smile. “But if I’m busted down in rank the next time you see me, believe me, it was for a good cause.”

“I do not think I will see thee again,” T’Pau said. She ignored the flicker of confusion on his face and raised her hand in the _ta’al_. “Live long and prosper.”

He echoed the farewell, and then T’Pau clicked off.

From what she had parsed from his rambling, a call to Starfleet Command would not go amiss.

She settled back into the cushions of her chair and made the necessary connection to request—through more official channels than the last time—James Kirk’s presence on Vulcan. Top priority.

_I am growing sentimental, _she thought.

Only a little of that sentiment was for Kirk, who was only an old friend in the ridiculous hyperbole of humans; still less than that was her sentiment for Spock, which was scarcely more than the empathy and compassion she owed any thinking being. No, she was sentimental for Suyak and what they had had, for love so profoundly felt that its loss overwhelmed all other instincts. She did not look it, but she was an old woman at heart, and homesick for a husband who was gone, with part of her _katra _with him.

An emotionality borne of understandable associations: it had been a surprising day for love matches.

T’Pring had managed her situation well, if ruthlessly. Perhaps she could be brought to consider politics. Such a mind, better-honed by age, could be a fine asset for Vulcan.

T’Pau turned her head as she was carried on through the vistas of her world’s deserts.

She should not succumb to old griefs. She was home, as she had chosen to be, among the reminders of her people and of Suyak, and among all the possibilities for change. Of which this day, she thought, augured much.

She was unsure of the bittersweet sum of her emotions, but she allowed herself a rare smile—one indulged in for its own sake, as there was no one there to see it.


End file.
